Page 162 of The Ascended
My breathing was still too fast, too shallow. Each inhalation felt like someone had poured molten metal down my throat and into my chest. I struggled to sit up, and his hand moved to my shoulder, steadying me.
"You're always just… staring at me when I wake up," I managed, my voice a ragged whisper. "It's unnerving."
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Well, you keep getting yourself mortally injured. It's becoming something of a habit."
"Not intentionally," I muttered, pressing a hand to my chest. The pain there was deep, bone-deep.
Xül watched me, raising an eyebrow "How do you feel?"
"Like I swallowed fire." I winced, shifting against the pillows. "My lungs are?—"
"Damaged," he finished for me. "You channeled more power than your body could safely contain."
I remembered now—the desperate pull for more as the elementals closed in, the searing heat that had built inside me until I thought I would explode from it. The stars answering my call, pouring too much light into me. And then… nothing.
"You almost died," Xül said matter-of-factly. "Again."
"How long was I unconscious?" I asked.
"Three days." He reached for a glass of water on the bedside table, offering it to me. "You've been drifting in and out. This is the first time you've been truly lucid."
Three days. The knowledge settled heavily in my stomach as I took the glass with trembling fingers. The water, cool and sweetened with mint, soothed my raw throat. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until the first drop touched my lips.
"Careful," Xül warned. "Small sips."
I obeyed, though it took all my willpower not to drain the entire glass.
"What were you dreaming about?" he asked finally, his voice uncharacteristicallygentle.
I took a deep breath, wincing at the pain it caused. "Sulien," I whispered.
Xül's expression didn't change, but I sensed a shift in his attention—a sharpening of focus. He didn't push, didn't rush me. He simply waited.
"My father," I clarified.
"When the priests came to Saltcrest." My fingers twisted in the sheets until my knuckles turned white. "They took me and Thatcher both. But Sulien—" My voice broke on his name. "Sulien had hidden us all those years."
Xül stilled. I’d never told him about what had happened that night.
"They executed him," I said, the words painful to speak aloud. "In front of everyone. In front of us. The punishment for harboring the blessed."
The memory was so vivid I could almost smell the smoke from the bonfire, hear the shocked gasps of the villagers. I closed my eyes against it, but that only made the images more intense.
"He didn't fight," I said, my voice cracking. "He just knelt there, dignified until the end. And his last words—" My voice failed me, and I had to take another painful breath before continuing. "Love. For the children who got him killed."
A single tear escaped, trailing down my cheek. I wiped it away roughly.
I looked up at Xül, expecting to see indifference or perhaps that cold, analytical interest he often displayed. Instead, I found raw anger, a darkness that seemed to pull the shadows closer around him.
"The priests," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "have always hidden their cruelty behind righteousness."
"I wanted to die," I admitted. "After Sulien was gone, I just… gave up. When I woke up in that cell, I’d wished they'd killed me too. I think I would have faded away if it weren't for Thatcher—for knowing he needed me."
Xül was silent for a long moment, his eyes distant, as if seeing beyond the walls of the chamber.
"The priests serve gods who’ve forgotten what justice truly means," he said, each word precise and heavy.
I froze, the air leaving my lungs in a rush. Had I heard him correctly? The Prince of Death—condemning not just the priests but the gods themselves?
